Before I settled into writing, I did a little theatre. One of my favorite roles was as Emily Webb in Thornton Wilder’s Our Town.
The production itself was a blast–gah! I miss the theatre–but it was in preparing for the show that I learned something about storytelling.
For the first few weeks or so, we were unable to practice in the actual theatre. Another show was playing–You’re A Good Man, Charlie Brown, if I remember correctly–and the stage was set for that production.
When we were able to move into the theatre, the first thing we did was repaint the stage. It went from something much more lively to solid black. All of it. The stage floor, the back walls, everything. When we were done, we had a blank canvas to work with.
And, as Wilder’s script called for, we didn’t add much. It’s a play done without a set, very few bits of scenery and absolutely no props. In one scene, Emily and her future husband, George, discuss their feelings over an ice cream soda. We used two folding chairs topped with a two-by-four to simulate the counter.
Strange, you say?
I thought so, at first. But you know what happens when you watch a play like Our Town? Your imagination kicks into overdrive. It fills in the blank spaces, the unembellished corners. Your own experiences, your own memories–the stories you have tucked away in your own mind leap into action and they build a set around the characters and their words. And in a subtle way, you, the audience member, are now part of the show in a way you wouldn’t have been had we told you exactly what the town of Grover’s Corners looked like.
When it comes to writing, readers and writers argue their preferences back and forth over this issue. If we’re going to err, should we err on the side of too much description or too little?
And when we say description are we talking scenery or backstory or prose? How do we know what to trim and where to elaborate?
I like this quote by Thornton Wilder.
This too can be our guide when we write. When we create worlds, we should color them with the kinds of things that bring hope and despair to our characters. Yes, we should set the scene, but when we begin to elaborate to the point of excess, when it becomes about indulging ourselves to the detriment of our character’s story, maybe we’ve gone too far. Maybe we should pull back a bit and leave a few dark bits for the reader to fill in on their own.
When I think back on that show, on the amazing cast and crew, that little stage is full of life and color and I have to remind myself that we did it all without the help of a fancy set and rooms full of props.
The characters colored that story. Their conversations and their flaws. The way they walked and fought and worried. The way they loved. The actions that filled their days and the motivations that moved them from one scene to the next. These things compelled scenery to spring into existence where there really was none at all.
So, perhaps this is me, giving you permission to not get every detail right. To leave a few shadowy corners in your fictional town up to the imagination of those flipping the pages. I bet it will serve you well. I bet your readers will find themselves on the streets of your little town, wondering why it looks so familiar and convinced they’ve been there before.